Justifiable Risk (26 page)

However, feelings this powerful didn’t come along every day. Since Clare’s death, Greer had been totally devastated, denied and absolutely refused to acknowledge Clare’s absence, angrily stayed drunk all weekend and had the occasional sexual tryst, languished in deep bouts of depression, and finally, reluctantly accepted Clare’s death. But it had taken that recovery time and more for her to feel this strongly attracted to another woman. To dismiss their connection out of hand was like laughing at fate. She didn’t want to go through the rest of her life alone. Clare wouldn’t have wanted that for her. But
could
she let go of the past with Clare for a future with Eva?

The panic she’d experienced when she thought Eva was injured at the warehouse and again tonight flashed through her mind. This wasn’t merely a brief affair. If she didn’t get the chance to explore what they had, she’d regret it. She wasn’t sure how such a profound change had occurred, but it was a gift she didn’t intend to take lightly.

Being with Eva reminded Greer what she’d been missing, and she wanted it back. She wanted to live again, not merely survive. Bessie’s affection, her fulfilling work, and her loyal friends and colleagues made her life full. But she longed to plunge headlong into the fire of love again. Was it even possible? She had to know.

*

Eva settled into one of Bessie’s cushy lounge chairs and sipped wine to settle her nerves. The disinfectant hospital smell still burned her nostrils and made her second near-death experience too real. She inhaled the wine’s flowery bouquet and waited patiently as Greer questioned Bessie again about the accident. It would be her turn soon enough, and she refused to reveal the depth of her fear. Greer didn’t need to hear how terrified she’d been or that she thought of her just before she blacked out. That had surprised Eva as much as the attempt on her life. That the two had occurred simultaneously concerned her. How could she separate them and figure out what she was actually feeling?

She hadn’t thought about her job or the great satisfaction or acclaim it had brought her through the years. Or about her travels around the world and the amazing things she’d seen. Her colorful past full of women from many cultural and ethnic backgrounds didn’t even appear. Surprisingly, she hadn’t even thought about her family. She remembered Greer.

Maybe she’d flashed to Greer before the crash because Greer was in law enforcement and made her feel safe. Perhaps she regretted using Greer initially and wanted to apologize before her imminent death. But she’d wished that she’d been more open about her feelings. No matter how she tried to justify or explain it, she cared for Greer Ellis.

In that split second before unconsciousness, she’d wanted to share her feelings with Greer, though she wasn’t sure why. Doing so couldn’t change their interaction so far and wasn’t likely to impact their separate lives in the future. They were worlds apart, independent women in accomplished careers, experienced in and injured by love. Nothing she could say would alter that. Strange how the mind functioned when death loomed.

If she hadn’t come to New Hope, she wouldn’t have found Greer. But now that she had, she wasn’t prepared to walk away and pretend she felt nothing. Her life of casual liaisons in exotic locales hadn’t stirred the exhilaration that Greer did. Those experiences had fulfilled her in some aspects, but not like her contact with Greer. She would always remember their interactions—both the good and the bad. Was she prepared to give that up?

When her domestic genes kicked in, Eva usually left town. It would be easy to secure another assignment and make some hasty departure excuses. But this wasn’t a typical situation. She couldn’t leave until they’d cleared Paul’s name. And even if she could, she’d be deciding to continue living as she had been—alone and anchorless—just the way she’d sworn she wouldn’t live. The thought of leaving Greer hurt more than the fear of Greer eventually rejecting her. Maybe it
was
possible to have the life she wanted. And when she and Bessie were run off the road, maybe her subconscious was telling her the time had come to decide what she wanted and to talk with Greer about her feelings. That would be a first for her, and the idea frightened her as much as being the target of a killer.

“Eva, did you hear me?” Greer asked.

“Sorry, I was daydreaming.” More like a sappy romantic interlude.

“I asked if anything else surfaced about the truck or driver who ran you off the road.”

“I’m afraid not. I wish I could be more helpful.”

Greer started to say something else but her cell phone rang. “Greer Ellis.” She listened for a few seconds and answered. “Yes, Mr. Williamson, I’ll be happy to meet you at your convenience. Name the time and place.” More silence. “That’s perfect. See you then.”

When she hung up, Bessie said, “Don’t tell me you have to go back out tonight.”

“No way am I leaving the two you of you alone after what happened. I can talk to this guy tomorrow.”

Bessie waved her off as if to say she could handle any problems. “I dare the bastards to trespass on my property. I’ll handle them myself and call for cleanup when I’m done.”

“I know, Bessie, but I’m not taking any chances.” She looked at Eva. “Will you try to be the voice of reason here?”

“I’m with you on this one, Detective. The more protection we have right now, the better.” Eva wanted to be brave and fierce like Bessie. But tonight she needed to be with Greer, to feel comfortable in the confidence and security that seemed to surround her. She wanted Greer to hold her through the night. And as she and Greer climbed the stairs to the second floor, a sense of peace came over her.

*

Greer rested fitfully as she kept watch over Eva. The room that once served as her safe haven now seemed like a staging area for the next assault. Every outside noise or creak of the house ramped up her adrenaline and kept her hypervigilant. Each time one of the dogs growled, she conducted another safety sweep through the house. Her mind whirred as she tried to assemble recent events into a recognizable pattern. The only comfort she allowed herself was listening to Eva’s steady breathing until the black night turned gray.

At first light Greer eased out of the house and drove into town for her meeting with Carlton Williamson. Despite the early hour, several downtown shop owners had already put out their colorful umbrellas along Elm Street. The aroma of fresh bread drifted from the bakery and blended with the smell of brewing coffee from the diner. The sights and scents seemed more encouraging today and made her optimistic about her meeting.

As soon as she entered the diner, Greer spotted Mr. Williamson seated in a booth in the back. He was the only stranger and stood out in his striped button-collar shirt and loosely knotted tie. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly trimmed and combed to one side. She offered her hand as she approached and introduced herself. Greer noted Williamson’s empty coffee cup and motioned to Janice for another round.

“How can I help you, Detective?”

The man returned her handshake with a firm grasp and met her gaze with clear, light blue eyes. Greer hoped Carlton Williamson had something substantial to contribute to this case because he would make an excellent witness. Not only would his standing as an attorney impress others, but he appeared to be sincere and trustworthy.

“I’m following up on a death investigation that occurred a little over four months ago at the Days Inn where you stayed on your visit to New Hope. The incident would’ve occurred the night before you left. Did you see or hear anything unusual that night?”

Mr. Williamson lifted his suit jacket off the bench seat and retrieved a small calendar from the inside pocket. “Just a second.” He flipped a few pages and ran a finger down the sheet. “Ah, here we go. Yes, there was something.”

Greer controlled a twinge of excitement. “Yes?”

“You’ll think me odd, but I document almost everything. It’s a compulsion—drives my wife nuts, but it does come in handy. That night, I was prepping for a trial, probably two in the morning. It was very quiet for a hotel. Then I heard a muffled thumping noise and thrashing about, like wrestling on the carpet.”

“And?” Greer didn’t want to rush Williamson, but she sensed more to his story.

“I thought I heard somebody say ‘please,’ like they were asking for help.” For the first time, Carlton Williamson’s gaze shifted away from her. “And I’m ashamed to say, I did nothing. I didn’t check to see if anything was wrong. I didn’t call the desk to have them follow up. I didn’t call the police. I became what I most despise about our society—an apathetic citizen.”

Greer’s hope vanished and she struggled to find something reassuring to say to this man who was obviously embarrassed by his behavior. “You had no way of knowing.” It sounded patronizing but was the best she could do. Her disappointment was as palpable as his discomfort.

“But I did look out my peephole about half an hour later when I heard the door open. Guess I wanted to see for myself that this person was okay. I assumed the person I saw leaving was the occupant.” Williamson paused as if considering another possibility for the first time. “You don’t suppose it was—”

“Do you think you could identify this person if you saw them again, Mr. Williamson?” Greer was determined to keep him on track. Witnesses often became preoccupied with the process and modified their stories to avoid a lengthy involvement in the criminal-justice system. She needed him to commit to the details before that scenario took hold. But if Carlton Williamson was half as sharp as he seemed, he’d already played that situation out completely.

“I’m certain I could.”

Hope returned as Greer took out her notepad. “Would you describe this person as fully as possible?”

“Caucasian male, probably about six feet—hard to say through a peephole—not very muscular, shaved head, and an earring of some sort in his left ear. He was wearing a tight red tank top that I found unusual for the fall weather. I couldn’t see below the waist. I was looking through one of those magnifying peepholes, not the full-body variety.”

As Greer noted the details, her enthusiasm rose with each new entry. The description sounded exactly like Baron Wallace, but she couldn’t jump to conclusions. It was possible to challenge an identification made through a peephole into a dimly lit hallway. “Is there anything else, no matter how insignificant it may seem?”

Mr. Williamson thought for a few minutes and rechecked his calendar. “No, that’s it.”

“Would you mind if I looked at your notes?” When he handed over the small calendar, Greer wondered how he could possibly have reconstructed his story from the squiggles she saw on the page. “What is this?”

“My own personal shorthand. I started using it when I was in law school. I wasn’t particularly attentive, so I trained myself to observe and make notes. It helped with studies and later in interviews with witnesses. It’s become a habit, but I’m afraid it won’t make sense to anyone else.”

Greer envisioned a defense attorney asking to see Mr. Williamson’s notes and receiving the calendar with his doodles all over it. The visual made her smile. “Would you be willing to look at a picture lineup?”

“Sure, anything I can do to help.”

Pushing the coffee cups to the side, Greer removed the picture file and placed it on the table unopened. “Look at all the pictures before you make any comment. Study each one carefully, then I’ll ask if you recognize anyone.”

Williamson smiled at her. “I understand the procedure. I’m a criminal-defense attorney.”

“Making sure to cross all the t’s and dot all the i’s, in case our suspect gets someone as sharp as you to represent him.” Greer opened the file and pushed it toward Carlton Williamson. “Take your time.”

As soon as he looked at the photos, Greer was certain he recognized the suspect. His eyebrows arched almost imperceptibly, a quirk that she imagined preceded the delivery of his most salient points in court. The wait was excruciating as she sipped her cold coffee and allowed him time to be certain of his decision.

“Okay.” His gaze met hers and he waited for the question.

“Do you recognize anyone, Mr. Williamson, and if so, how?”

“This man.” He pointed to suspect number four, Baron Wallace. “This is the man I saw in the hallway of the Days Inn hotel that night. I’m certain of it.”

Greer retrieved the file, closed her notepad, and placed them both back in her leather folder. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”

He collected his coat and stood to leave. “You’re very welcome. I’d hate to play poker with you, Detective. I have no clue if the one I chose is your suspect.”

It wasn’t exactly a violation of protocol to verify this information for a witness, but she’d made it a practice not to do so. But in this case, Carlton Williamson had come a long way and would be an excellent witness. She wanted to extend a little professional courtesy and respect for his efforts and keep him in a cooperating mood. “You’ve done very well.” When he looked at her she nodded. “I’ll be in touch if we go to trial.”

After Williamson left, Greer remained in the booth reviewing their conversation. She now had a witness who had seen Baron Wallace in the hallway outside Paul Saldana’s room the night he died. That same witness could testify to hearing a noise that was beyond those usually associated with early morning hours or sleeping. And, finally, Carlton Williamson heard someone, probably Paul Saldana, pleading for help. For the first time since she started this case, Greer was certain Paul had been murdered. But she still had no idea why.